


the light that the fire would bring

by heeryor_lunboks



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Other, also starring lots of feywild grass, but mostly just some fey creature having Feelings about his human, can I have some uhhhh sentient ancient fey creature who loves his human, yeah cool stick some weird intimate feywild magic transfer not-sex on that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 17:46:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19361659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heeryor_lunboks/pseuds/heeryor_lunboks
Summary: He can feel where magic pools in Caleb’s body, in the palms of his hands, in his belly, high in his throat. It smells of woodsmoke, tastes of thrumming heart-blood, shines like gold. It is a far cry from the pitiful creature who first called on him.





	the light that the fire would bring

**Author's Note:**

> Another one from the [kink meme](https://criticalkink.dreamwidth.org/3194.html?thread=981370#cmt981370)! 
> 
> For those (understandably) wanting to know what they're getting into, Frumpkin appears as a part-human part-animal sentient fey creature in this, and there's some magic-transferring between him and Caleb that is overtly sexual. 
> 
> But it's mostly ancient fey creature being like "i found this pretty human and i'm going to take care of it i guess"

When his human first calls him, he shows up out of curiosity, and finds not a trained mage in rich dwellings, nor even a cottage witch with a practiced, easy touch. He finds a man more bone than flesh, his eyes wide and disbelieving.

He stretches, finding his limbs in this body. A cat, plain but agile. Not a bad form to spend some time in. A fun set of senses and instincts.

The man's thin hand reaches out to him, shaking, before he seems to lose his nerve and tucks his hand back into his chest. Pitiful. He briefly considers leaving this sad creature to whatever unfortunate, short end awaits it. But the man's dark-tipped fingers reach out again, slow and reverent.

"I—hallo." His voice is a bowl cracked through, long unused. "Oh. Oh, you are beautiful. Thank you for coming. My name is, is, is—" His voice falters. "Ah, it is not important. Thank you for your presence. Thank you. I have some milk for you. Or some meat, if you prefer that in this form."

Polite, at least. Careful in following the proper forms, even though he seems to have summoned him in a goat shed.

The smell of incense is sweet and cloying on the air, mixing with the musty hay. He wonders, briefly, how this sad, threadbare creature acquired the precious materials necessary to cross the planes. 

He ignores the man's hand and nibbles at the scraps of blood-warm meat. Then, laps briefly from the milk bowl. Fresh, perhaps from one of the goats. Sweet and fatty.

The human watches him eat. When he is finished, he sits back on his haunches and meets the human's gaze.

The human's eyes alight on him, desperation and longing writ deep in his gaze. Yet he holds his hands on his lap, wringing the fabric of his thin tunic as though unsure that he deserves the presence bestowed upon him.

"I. Ah. Will you stay?"

He lashes his tail back and forth, considering. It is hard to turn down an appeal to his vanity, and harder still to deny his curiosity. 

He comes to the human's hands, butting into them. If he is to be a cat, he intends on getting the full benefits. The human's hands flinch back, then alight on his fur, petting delicately. 

A sound above him, ragged and wet. Perhaps the man is weeping, as humans sometimes do.

The human makes those noises for a long time, hunched over, his hands careful on his fur.

"May I— may I call you Frumpkin? It is silly, I know."

Frumpkin is a good name. It tastes like summer fields with fat dormice and long grasses.

He goes hunting into the night and brings the human back a bird. The human cooks and eats it, leaving fine bird feathers strewn around the inside of the goat hut. 

He tucks himself inside the human’s coat, curled against the hollow bowl of his belly that holds the dregs of his magic. 

He could so easily tear into his belly and strew slick coils of his guts over the straw. He doesn't think the human would fight him. But no, he does not want this human to come to harm. The thought surprises him with its fierceness. 

He curls against the human’s body, his animal-warm smell, his slow, irregular heartbeat, his near-cold embers of magical power, and stays.

—

It is hard to tell how much time passes. Time in this plane moves very fast, sometimes. The human becomes his human Caleb, and then becomes his human Caleb and the goblin Nott, and then becomes his human Caleb and the goblin Nott and the many others. They are very entertaining, and his human Caleb flourishes in their company. 

It is nice, simple, to occasionally be summoned to be Frumpkin. His human’s demands are silly, sometimes, but never degrading. Caleb treats Frumpkin's temporary bodies with a care that belies their transient nature. It is great fun to be a fey king for a troop of kobolds, or to ride Caleb into the depths of the ocean. They are never predictable, his human Caleb and his companions, and that alone is worth the occasional trip into a well.

And one day, true to their predictable unpredictability, he feels the connection strung between the two planes by Caleb's spellwork fall tauter and closer. Huh.

There's a snap, as if Caleb is summoning him, but it feels as though he is calling from just over the next ridge of the feywild, not from across the planes. He raises his head and he can smell Caleb on the wind, a burst of woodsmoke undercut with clean rainstorm ozone.

He does not know why his human crossed over, but this is likely something exciting and different, as always.

He calls on the last form he took in the other plane, finding its wide black wings, and rises into the sky to wheel over the plain. There's a group, far on the edges, almost at the woods. And far from them, a solitary figure in the middle of the grass.

He lands and stalks over in the long grass.

Caleb is standing there, snapping his fingers and looking decidedly confused and a little panicked.

His human startles easily. It would perhaps be best to approach him in this familiar form. But here, he is in possession of the full of his powers, and he can't help but show it off.

He isn’t often a human, but he finds his usual golden-skinned shape. That seems terribly boring. He reaches for the familiarity of Frumpkin, pulls on a larger version of his sleek feline flank to meet the human torso, grows the black feathered wingspan of a vulture. After a moment's thought, adds the shifting, colourful skin and useful limbs of an octopus, the many eyes of a spider. 

He frowns, considering. It is a bit of a hodgepodge, but he decides that he likes it. His human always likes the strange.

"You've finally come to visit," he says.

Caleb wheels towards him, a swell of fire in his palm and his eyes wide. His smell is the same familiar thing, only sharper, more distinct. 

He cocks his head to the side and blinks at him. "Oh, put that down. You've come all this way."

“This, this is the feywild, yes?” Caleb asks, fire still held in his palm.

“Yes, I would say so.” 

He pulls at the bond between them. It is taut and golden and vibrating with energy with their proximity.

Caleb's head jerks up, and his gaze sharpens suddenly, looking him up and down. Good. His human is one of the smarter ones, after all. 

"Oh," Caleb says shakily, after a long moment. "Frumpkin? Is that you?”

He preens a little. Much better. 

His human reaches out and then draws back, as if unsure of the bounds of propriety with someone who occasionally spent entire days slung comfortably around his neck. A little silly, but humans were like that.

He bends down and reaches for Caleb's hand, guiding it to his flank.

A quick inhale of breath, and Caleb's hands reach to wind into the fur, petting it into smoothness. He has clever hands, good for scratching. Caleb jolts at the arc of magic that crackles while petting him, but then laughs, low and wondrous and awed.

“Oh, what a beautiful thing you are. You are very impressive like this."

He enjoys the low flare of satisfaction in his gut and blinks slowly at Caleb. His human knows how to flatter, which would be pleasing enough, but he also sounds wholly sincere, as though he truly thinks that he is the most wondrous creature. It is very nice. 

"I feel like I ought to thank you, now that I have the chance. You've been very good to me," Caleb says. His smile gives an awkward quirk. "You have a, ah, healthy sense of humour? Thank you for that. I hope I have not damaged your dignity too badly."

"I wouldn't do anything I didn't want to." He tilts his head, then narrows his eyes. "Do not toss me into any more wells."

Caleb winces. "Ja, I do apologise for that."

"I will bring you to your companions. I saw them across the fields. We will have to walk, though. This grass is picky and and a little stupid and easily offended."

Caleb pats his side. "Lead on, my friend."

They travel through the shifting, vivid colours of the long grass, tracing his companions as Caleb wraps wire around his palm and points into the horizon, calling. Caleb keeps a hand on his flank as they walk. The grass is summer-warm and fresh. He has to stop to roll in it a few times, and Caleb is smiling at him when he stands up again. 

In all his years, not many of the mages who enlisted his services traveled so far as to meet him. His senses are dulled when he is in a familiar’s body, but here, it is different. He can feel where magic pools in Caleb’s body, in the palms of his hands, in his belly, high in his throat. It smells of woodsmoke, tastes of thrumming heart-blood, shines like gold. It is a far cry from the pitiful creature who first called on him. 

His human has a healthy flush to him these days, his body filled to the cusp with magic. He wears it prettily. 

Every so often, Caleb looks around and up at the sky, and shakes his head.

“Is there something amiss?”

"No, it is only—" Caleb gestures at his head. "I am used to having a good sense of direction, and this place has thrown it for a loop. It operates by different rules. The time, too. What my mind tells me is the time does not seem to match."

He is silent again for a long moment, looking at the long shadows and gilt edges of the ever-setting sun.

"I dreamed of this, when I was little. When I would leave out milk for the fairies. This is stranger and more beautiful than what I imagined." Caleb looks for a little longer, then shakes himself, striding through the tall grass.

A few more miles out, the sweet grass smell shifts, turning sour.

The grass catches at Caleb's ankle, bringing him down with a surprised shout.

They must have crossed into another's territory unknowingly. He sighs and looks out at the expanse of grass, a little annoyed. Some people were so careless about marking what was their own, and then kicked up such a fuss when you unknowingly crossed a boundary.

"We've entered another's threshold, and we must leave them a gift, to thank them for their, ah, hospitality." He rolls his many eyes, which are satisfyingly expressive. The wind through the grass grows a little stronger and more aggressive.

"A gift," Caleb says as he tugs his leg free of the grass with a yank. He pats down his pockets. "What would be appropriate?"

He shrugs. "Will you lie with me? It should be the simplest way to satisfy our obligation to our host."

The smell of the grass turns sweeter, losing the sour edge. Apparently it likes that idea.

His human's skin goes a sudden hectic red. His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. "Lie with you?"

"The terms of passage are different for me, but it would accept that as an offering from you. You do not have to. We can find another gift."

Caleb opens his mouth. Closes it. Looks around himself at the grass, which bristles smugly.

He frowns. "Would you enjoy it? As I said, you do not have to. Or would you prefer a more human body?" He is loath to ask, because he likes this Frumpkin-body formed from things that Caleb asked of him. But it might be less confusing. 

Caleb looks at him, his eyes darting over his form, lingering on the high arches of his wings, the rippling colour spreading through his skin. Caleb swallows, tilts his head back, showing the fine line of his throat and the humming magic pooled inside. Humans always made these things more complicated than necessary.

Caleb breathes in shakily, squares his shoulders. "I. No, it is not that. I only—you are a very strange and beautiful thing, and I do not think you want to lie with—" he gestures at himself, a little helpless. "Well. You have seen me at my worst, after all."

He draws himself up, his fur bristling. "I do not choose to enter into a contract lightly," He reaches out and runs his fingers along Caleb's neck, finding its quick, thrumming pulse. It is so quick, so mortal, so fleeting. Burning quickly and brightly. "I would not have stayed if I didn't find you worthy."

Caleb's eyes fly wide. His lips part, but no words come. His chin drops to his chest, and he gives a shuddering breath. 

"You do me a great honour. You know that I cherish your company, yes?" The words tumble out of Caleb, rough and painfully sincere. 

It makes his gut fill with a fierce tenderness, and he wants to curl around his human, to keep him safe and whole. He strokes Caleb's jaw. The rasp of his beard is familiar from rubbing his face against it when he is riding Caleb's shoulders.

Caleb's breath draws in, sharp and sudden, his pale eyelashes casting against his cheeks. Caleb reaches out and strokes over the join where sleek fur meets the shifting colours of his torso. "You are a beautiful creature," he says, his voice rough.

He catches Caleb up and covers his body with his own, bearing him down in the tall grass, the dark wings spread atop them. Caleb clutches at his fur. He can feel the quick rise and fall of his breath, but he smells no fear, only a tentative, sweet arousal.

Caleb's hands flutter before landing on his shoulders, as if unsure what to do with them. He allows Caleb to shift his hips experimentally into the smoothness of his fur, soft and sleek against him. 

The extra octopus limbs are useful for holding him close, for slipping into the layers of Caleb's clothing to find skin. The arms almost move of their own volition, chasing the taste of salt in the hollow between Caleb's clavicles, curling up the line of his neck. The tendrils of his limbs crawl over Caleb's skin, fascinated by the dip of his back, the crook of his knee, the gaps between his clever mage's fingers.

He winds more limbs around Caleb's thighs to spread his legs, and Caleb arches up against him with a long shudder. It is pleasing to be larger than him, for once, to be able to cradle his skinny human body and hold it close.

The strange human flush of his skin is pink and lovely when he pulls the layers of clothes aside. He bends to put his mouth to Caleb's neck, and he can taste the magic in Caleb's skin, draws out a bit of it. It is sweet and blood-hot, electric with energy. 

It is a rare privilege, to see him so unguarded. That he should trust him enough to leave himself so open. 

He cups Caleb's jaw and brings his mouth to meet his. Caleb makes a soft, surprised noise, but kisses him back with a hunger.

As they kiss, Caleb's brow furrows, concentrated, as if trying to figure something out. When Caleb pulls back, he still looks puzzled, curious, and he comes back to his mouth at once. 

Tasting his magic, he realizes.

He brushes his mouth against Caleb's, letting him sip at the pool of magic in him. Caleb tastes him more deeply this time, drinking hungrily from him. When he pulls back, Caleb is panting, and his eyes are an electric, impossible blue.

Caleb chases his mouth, making a frustrated noise. His body is taut and wanting against him, pulling against the bonds of the limbs wrapped around him. Oh.

He strokes Caleb's face, his hair. Pretty. He cups Caleb’s jaw, questioning, and Caleb nods fervently.

His limbs coil around Caleb, holding him impossibly closer. His human, so fragile and yet so hungry for impossible, unknowable things.

He kisses Caleb, and his magic spills into him, rich and full, flowing molten and gold into his mouth. Caleb gasps, arching against him and writhing against his fur. When he tapers it off, cautious, Caleb makes a desperately wanting noise, reaching for his mouth, still demanding. 

He pours magic into Caleb until his skin is aglow with it, until his body struggles to hold it, until he is shuddering with the shimmering intensity of it inside his veins.

"Too—too much," Caleb says finally, pulling back from his mouth with a gasp. "Oh, oh—"

He holds Caleb, stroking his hair as Caleb shudders against his body, wracked by the magic coursing through him. He can feel where his magic mingles with Caleb's own, settling low in his belly in a heavy pool of shimmering gold.

"You take it so well," he says.

He bends to kiss Caleb again, feeling his hot gasps against his mouth. Making it clear that if he wanted more, he would need only ask.

Caleb opens his mouth soundlessly and spills against his chest, shaking.

He strokes a hand over Caleb’s jaw, considers what it would be like to fill Caleb, clasping him tight and keeping him full to the brim for hours. Seeing how much pleasure he can pull from this delicate human body until it struggles to give more, until it aches and trembles. What his chosen human looks like when he is filled to the cusp with the swell of his favour, dripping and heavy with it. His magic would course inside Caleb's skin for days after, so bright that any fey being, any arcane user would know whose he is. 

But Caleb has always been kind to him. There are no debts between them, but he owes him that kindness in kind, no matter his curiosity. His pretty, pretty human who gave him sweet milk and blood-warm meat and the dying embers of his magic when it was all he had to give.

He withdraws from Caleb's body and nudges him to flop onto the grass. He curls his body around Caleb, propping him up against his flank until he has caught his breath.

"There. I think that is our obligation satisfied." 

"I. Ah. Yes," Caleb says. His arm flaps out loosely until he finds his flank, petting. "Oh, you are rumbling."

He purrs louder.

Caleb laughs, quiet and rueful. "Well. I think I won't be wanting for spells for the next few days."

"I should hope not."

Caleb laughs again and slumps against his side, pushes his face into his fur. His breathing evens out slowly.

“You smell like summer,” Caleb says, his voice quiet and rough. “Like when they made hay in the fields.” 

They rest there, in the grass, Caleb's silver string placed around them, and then carry on into the ever-golden sky.


End file.
